say.
At that he laughed, loudly, the first truly free emotion of the evening. A frisson of need made her stiffen. ‘I could say the same, Cassandra. Few people manage to keep me as intrigued as you do and so effortlessly.’
He had come closer now. If she stepped forward she could have rested her head against his heart. With all her willpower she stopped herself doing just that.
Not yet, a voice inside her called. He needs to understand exactly who you are.
Her fingers came up to loosen the ties at her bodice. They were shaking in their pursuit of truth as fire began to build behind the slate of his eyes. The yellow silk had been chosen carefully. With just a few twitches of fabric it fell from her shoulders, the thin bodice of lawn the only thing now that kept his glance from her shame.
Then that was gone, too, three slices of raised red skin at the top of her right breast on show.
‘I did not give the names as easily as you had imagined, Nathaniel. I paid for their lives in my own blood, too. I knew that I was pregnant, you see, and if I did not give him something he might...’
‘God.’ One finger reached out to trace the injuries, horror and anger on his face.
But not at her. It was Lebansart his wrath was directed at.
‘The bastard did this to you?’
She nodded because suddenly she could not speak, the back of her throat closing in an aching heaviness.
‘He could have killed you. Both of you.’
‘I th-think he thought he had.’
‘Ah, sweetheart.’ His voice broke as he simply leant down and kissed the scars, one by one. Healing their ugliness, she was to think later, and dissipating their power over her. Forgiveness was a quiet and gentle emotion, the light and earnest feel of his tongue and the smooth sweep of his lips, but it held all the weight of a new beginning.
Her hand came through his hair, shorter now than it had been in France, the dark sheen of it almost blue.
‘Love me, Nathaniel, and make me forget.’
In response he lifted her to him and brought her to his bed, the wide velvet counterpane beneath her as he peeled the dress and bodice away. Her stockings were next and the small slippers bought only a few days before. Then he loosened her hair from its tie and draped the length of it down beside her.
Caught in the light and in his gaze she stayed very still. ‘You are even more beautiful than I remember.’ His voice held reverence and awe.
He was fully dressed as he stroked one breast, smiling when the nipple puckered at his ministrations. Then his fingers fell lower, across her stomach and down into the place between her thighs, pushing into the wet warmth with a gentle insistence. And all the time his eyes never left her own, the fire within them banking and a look that said she was his. Need made her loins rise from the bed to meet him, her legs opening wider to allow him in, and she looked away because she knew that the roiling waves of release were about to come and she did not want to see his reaction to such a surrender.
Her muscles caught around his fingers, stilling the plunder and keeping him there inside her tight, and when she began to shake he pushed in farther still, eliciting a groan that held a primal relief.
She was no longer cautious or circumspect. All she could think of was the aching craving urgency in her body and the balm and ease of tension.
They belonged together, Nathaniel and she, and it had nothing to do with marriage or legality or expectations.
It was far simpler than that. It was how their skin called to each other and how the shape of his body so perfectly fitted hers. It was in the scent of him and the beauty and the strength. It was in his honesty and morality and bravery and forgiveness.
A single tear traced its way from her left eye down onto the pillow beneath. She had not expected absolution, but how she had wanted it. From him. From the only other person in all of the world who might understand what she had lost and what she had gained.
Her saviour. Now and then.
‘I will love you for ever, Nathaniel.’
* * *
Cassandra’s eyes were clear and her voice was strong as she said it, no half-meant troth given with a lack of honesty or intent.
‘For ever?’
This time he was ready and there was no question in his reply. With care he crossed the room and opened a drawer, pulling out his mother’s ring from a velvet box. The emerald glinted in the light as he walked back and he saw she was now perched on the edge of his bed, watching.
With care he bent on one knee and the smile that he had missed so much came easily to her lips.
‘I never stopped loving you, Cassandra Northrup. Will you marry me?’
‘I already have, Nathaniel Lindsay.’ The words were wobbly and tears pooled in her eyes.
‘Again then. Properly this time. With everyone around us.’
‘Yes.’
Bringing her hand up, he placed the ring upon it. His mother’s ring was still oversized and the ancient gold needed a good polish, but on Cassandra’s finger it looked completely right.
A circle. Of life. Lost and found. He knew his mother would have loved Cassandra, loved her rarity and her honesty. The only thing she wore was a smile and this ring and she looked to him like a goddess sent from above. To heal loneliness and doubt, to bring laughter and adventure and truth.
When her hands came to the buttons on his shirt he stood still, tugging the garment off on completion and then doing the same with his trousers and boots. Life had marked them both. Inside and out. But it had also melded them together into a shape that could not withstand the world alone. He smote the candles above and the one on the stand near the bed and in the light of the fire he turned. They came together as husband and wife, his seed spilled without a care for caution.
Home. Safe. The night outside and the warmth within.
‘I want as many more Jamies as you might give me,’ he whispered finally when sense had returned.
‘Starting tonight, Nathaniel.’ The light in her eyes danced as her fingers closed around his shaft and all that had been wonderful before began again.
* * *
Much later they spoke. She leaned against him, her head upon his chest as he lifted himself to sit against the cushioned bed end.
‘Lebansart left the minute after I gave him the names on the document. Louis Baudoin had already died from having allowed me to see the paper and in the end it killed Celeste, too...’
His finger came across her lips, stopping the flow of words. ‘You don’t have to tell me any more if you do not wish to. It doesn’t matter now.’
‘But I want to. If I had not interfered, my cousin’s soul may have been saved, for she died by her own hand less than a day later.’
